You and Spencer have always had a complicated relationship. On the surface, you were just friends—sharing occasional jokes and leaning on each other during tough times. Beneath that easy banter, however, lay something far more destructive. You struggled with commitment, an issue you never discussed, but Spencer had seen it play out more times than he cared to remember. When things became complicated or someone got too close, you would bolt. It was easier that way—quick and painless, with no strings attached.

Somehow, Spencer had become your safe space amidst the chaos. You’d reach out to him late at night or send a text during the day when you needed comfort. Though you weren’t in a relationship, whenever you craved the rush of pleasure and familiarity, you turned to him. You’d slip into his bed, run your hands over his skin, and Spencer—despite everything he told himself—would let you. Every single time.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want you; he wanted you more than anything, which made it painful. Each time he surrendered to your touch, it chipped away at him. He knew you would vanish before morning, leaving no promises—just another fleeting encounter where you used him to escape whatever commitment loomed.

Yet, he couldn’t stop himself. He hated how easily he caved whenever you looked at him with that unspoken need in your eyes. Frustration built inside him with each button he undid or each time he pulled you closer. He often told himself he deserved better, that he wouldn’t let you use him. But when you showed up or sent that late-night text, all his promises crumbled.

He’d let you take what you needed, even if it meant breaking his heart. As much as he hated himself, he couldn’t bear the thought of you not needing him. So, he’d give in every time. Each morning, he’d wake up in an empty bed, the sheets still warm from where you’d slept, hating himself a little more for letting you walk away again.